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It is thought the winter blues or seasonal affective disorder affects around 2 million people in the UK. It can affect people of any age including children. So, as it's a gloomy start to November, cold, grey and damp, here are some tips to beat the blues. And a happy picture to remind you of more colourful days to come. As soon as you wake up, open all curtains and blinds- any light is good light. Maintain your routine- don't neglect your hobbies. Get outside- dog walkers have to do it. Ditch the sugar-  sugar feeds depression. Develop wintertime interests- become a super-chef, a knitter, a blogger, a singer, a dancer. Practice relaxation- breathing exercises, yoga, mindfulness. Watch a funny film- it is hard not to laugh. Keep warm- hot water bottles are great, hot drinks, warm socks. Keep working out- you will feel better even if it's a struggle. See friends and family- they might need cheering up too. Book a massage- a study shows massage

A beautiful shot of a white 'fogbow' has been captured by photographer Melvin Nicholson. Mr Nicholson was out walking on Rannoch Moor in the west of Scotland on Sunday when the stunning white rainbow appeared. A 'fogbow' is a colourless rainbow that is made up of tiny water droplets that cause fog. A windswept tree, framed by the fogbow completed his magical shot. As an artist myself, I especially love this photograph, I can imagine Melvin's delight at capturing this particular image at this particular time, not staged at all, nature doesn't do dress rehearsals or repeat performances after all. He was in the right place at the right time and was rewarded with this gift from nature, and he unwrapped his present and shared it with the world.                                                              Magical work Melvin.

This will be my 51st post. So far, the subject matter of this blog has been eclectic, a bit of glamour, quite a bit of politics, a smidgen of philosophy, a tiptoe into tarot and a lot of art. I do tend to flit from one subject to the other but that's a characteristic of the creative brain. Some people assume that artists- musicians, writers, poets, painters- are strong on the fantasy side, whereas politicians and businesspeople are realists. This may be true in terms of day-to-day routine activities. But when a person begins to work creatively, all bets are off. Artists need to combine playfulness and discipline or responsibility and irresponsibility. There is no question that a playfully light attitude is typical of creative individuals. But this playfulness doesn't go far without its antithesis, a quality of doggedness, endurance, and perseverance. When I am feeling creative, I feel like I am living life more fully and can easily become absorbed in a project for hours o

Good morning, America. Half of the American people will have been nursing their first coffee of the day feeling sick. Think of us Brits on June 24th, we feel your pain.  A vast disillusionment would be setting in: that as of now the romantic idealisation of America is dead. As they shift uncomfortably in their chairs, they will conclude that there may not be a happy conclusion to the novel that is their homeland. Half of the American people presumed that their fellow citizens still believed in a more liberal approach to life, a bit more of a leaning toward racial harmony and sexual equality; believed them to be an open and tolerant lot, believed them to be, well, more like themselves. It comes as a horrible shock to realise that it's you in the minority. It's you who voted for the losing campaign. It's horrible to realise that you overlooked those fellow Americans, white people, living in rural areas who don't share your views on what it's like to

Today I remember my brother who died in 2002 at the age of forty-two. He had been ill for some time so one would assume his death did not come as a shock, but it did. We had grown accustomed to his illness; he had a brain stem tumour. My sister-in-law nursed him at home and his estimated life expectancy had been a few months, yet he just kept going. He was bedridden but could recognise us and every now and then would surprise us all with bursts of conversation before silence resumed. Every now and then we were treated to glimpses of his wit and charm. I remember one particularly poignant conversation I had with him. He told me he had been out in the fields with Joe (his father-in-law who had passed away many years previously) and a few of his other mates. A quizzical look came across his face as he said to me, "But, Cee, Joe wouldn't open the gate, why wouldn't he open the gate, why wouldn't he let me go with him? I wanted to go with him." I imagined a sun kissed